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Once Upon A City: From prudishness to passion

Toronto the Good was reluctant to accept of Valentine’s Day and become Toronto the Amorous.

Star reporter Olivia Ward, right, did her best to assist browsers at Lovecraft, the city’s first sex shop, in 1979. “One man's you-know is another man's God-knows-what,” said Ward. By 1996 the Star reported that, “Sex sells, big time. And Valentine’s Day is the busiest time of all for Toronto erotica boutiques.” (Toronto Star Archives)

A quarter-century later, voracious customers were boldly marching edible undies — with adjustable licorice straps and flavours of merry cherry, pink champagne and strawberry chocolate — out the door and into the bedrooms of a randy metropolis.

“Sex sells, big time,” reported the paper in 1996. “And Valentine’s Day is the busiest time of all for Toronto erotica boutiques.”

It had taken decades for denizens to replace prudishness with passion in their celebration of romantic love. A century earlier, some even questioned the validity of the day itself.

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Robert L. Stark, the then head of Coutts Hallmark Cards of Canada, opined in 1970 that the valentine card not only brings people closer together “when society is pushing them apart” but may even “bring peace to the world.” Thisis a guide to making your own valentine by Christopher Hutsul. (Christopher Hutsul)

“Nobody seems to know,” mused an editorial on Feb. 14, 1911, “why Priest Valentine … should have become the patron saint of lovers and why the date on which he was clubbed to death should today be celebrated by the sending of tender missives.”

While its origins are fuzzy, Valentine’s Day is thought to have evolved from ancient fertility festivals and a couple of Roman saints named Valentine who performed illegal marriage ceremonies in the third century.

In Toronto in the early 1900s, Eaton’s fifth floor was abloom in posies “rich in sentiment and thoughtfulness,” said a slightly misspelled ad flogging “sweat peas,” red tulips and lily of the valley for 25 to 50 cents a bunch.

Later on, expressions of ardour were often entrusted to post office workers who, in 1930, handled 150,000 valentines. Many were contained in flimsy envelopes and poorly wrapped parcels but workers did their best “to avoid causing disappointment to anyone,” according to the Star.

This article from 1955 reported the old “slam” card, that featured lines like, “I always think of you, every time I pass a zoo”, was disappearing. Instead, the emphasis was on dignity, with the ‘big, expensive number’ declaring “For the dearest sweetheart in the world” sized at 8 by 10 inches, and including a string of imitation pearls bedecking a large, padded satin heart at a cost of $3.

But lover’s letdown may have beset recipients of a $10.95 reversible grey flannel skirt, one of several “practical gifts” suggested by Lady Ellis Shops in 1954. For the man of the house, “the white shirt he wants” was available in Egyptian cotton for $6.50, the store advertised.

And if you were one of those women “who aren’t exactly cut out to be anybody’s true valentine,” a columnist named Margot had some advice: enroll in a finishing school and “learn to be youthful, more attractive and possessed of greater poise than ever before.”

In those pre-feminism days, the media promoted the notion that Cupid’s access to the male heart was through the esophagus.

While “we females long for frilly Valentine’s and syrupy sentiment,” Margaret Carr wrote in her “Cooking Chat” column in 1962, men “go for something more substantial.”

Cue the rolling pin. “One way to catch your favourite beau on St. Valentine’s Day is to serve bright cherry tarts with perky little pastry hearts on top,” Carr advised.

This 1949 Eaton’s Valentine’s Day ad reminds the reader that, “It’s a day to express your affections in a tangible, pretty way and the box of candies, a little jewel, a perfume or such will whisper sweet things to that someone you love!”

It was also the era of so-called “sick” Valentine’s cards containing insults such as the “thigh-slapper,” according to the Star, that featured a beautiful peacock and a punch line about the recipient having a bird brain.

Not surprisingly, the head of Coutts Hallmark Cards of Canada wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to the virtues of sending sweet sentiments.

The valentine, Robert L. Stark opined in 1970, not only brings people closer together “when society is pushing them apart” but may even “bring peace to the world.”

Star reporter Earl McRae was quickly dispatched to the phone. “Does U Thant see the Valentine as a secret weapon for peace?” he asked an aide to the United Nations secretary-general.

Thant, the aide responded, was “in favour of using anything that will make love and not war.”

Next up was U.S. President Richard Nixon whose aide told McRae the powerful leader was “all for Valentine cards if they’ll foster peace and understanding.”

This 1950 Eaton’s Valentine’s Day ad suggests for her a lovely slip, or possibly plastic utility bags as “A Valentine Gift for the Knitter.” For him, “Valen-Ties For a Favourite Guy!” or signet rings, “A Valentine gift of lasting significance!”

And a spokesman for Alexei Kosygin said the premier of the Soviet Union liked the idea of sending valentines “if it creates brotherhood.”

Even snarly Toronto Maple Leafs owner Harold Ballard, who had just bought a football team, got in on the action in 1978 with a message that read: “Happy Valentine to my Hamilton Tiger-Cats — Eat ’em Raw.”

Meryl Dunsmore, photographed here on February 14, 1972, received a Valentine’s Day card from a secret admirer every year, beginning in 1928 until her death in 1988. At her funeral he sent a bouquet and card that read “rest in peace My Valentine.”

But Toronto’s most enduring love story — at least on paper — was about resident Meryl Dunsmore and a secret admirer whose valentines spanned six decades. Every year from 1928 when Dunsmore was 16, a card would arrive from somewhere around the world.

Dunsmore, who died in 1988 at age 76, thought he might be an old classmate turned sailor but his identity was never revealed.

At her funeral he sent a bouquet and card that read “rest in peace My Valentine.”

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